Rain Harlow
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Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2025-03-20 19:00:49 +0000 UTCJack did an incredulous double-take at the question. “Are you serious? Coffee? Did you really say coffee?”
The secretary smiled widely. “How would you like it?”
“Black with two sugars.” It came out like a rote, and he smiled at how happy he was to say it again. How long had it been? Two years. The pocketbook had to accept reality. “Ma’am. Thank you.”
“No problem at all. Coming right up, Mr. Laker.” She exited, closing the door behind her.
Mr. Laker? How about that? She says it like she likes to say it. Or maybe I’m imagining that. Yeah. Be real — she’s just really nice.
Jack did not sit, instead taking a walk around idly. He got some refreshing chilled water in a little paper cup, gulped it down, and got some more. Eyeing the camera corner, he smiled and raised his cup. “Cheers, my watcher. Not taking a nap, are you? I wouldn’t sleep on Mr. Laker. Hehe.”
The secretary was exceptionally prompt, coming back through with coffee in a heavy-duty, insulated paper cup complete with a plastic sip lid. Jack set down his water to receive it in two hands, like a holy chalice, while the secretary obliged his reception with an air of amusement.
Jack took a glorious, holy sip and sighed immediately after, closing his eyes as the experience gave him literal goosebumps. He took another sip and was sure it was too much and would burn his tongue… nope. Not allowed!
I can’t burn my tongue on hot coffee?! An incredible superpower!
With tremendous, heartfelt gratitude, Jack said, “Thank you. Thank you so, so much, Madam Secretary.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Alice is fine.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “No way. Your name is Alice?”
She nodded with a raised eyebrow. “Does it mean something?”
“Oh. Well. Kind of. I-I like it!” No way am I telling her it's my car’s name.
“Good to hear. Well, I need to go and print some things out. Paperwork, as always. Doing okay, here?”
Jack waved his hand, having to swallow another sip of coffee quickly — which didn’t burn! “Oh, no, no, I’m fine. Yep. You’re good. Print away!”
She smiled and nodded as her eyes slid away, and she departed once more with the sound of heels clicking down a hallway behind a closed door.
Alice The Secretary. Quite a woman. A bombshell, really. A little older? Hard to say, but probably. I should flirt more, maybe- no, no. Get it together, Jack! This is Serious Time. She’s just really nice. But ‘Alice’? Isn’t that destiny calling? Probably has a boyfriend. Husband. Naaah.
In truth, the whole experience was surprisingly mundane and ultimately held a vague familiarity. Like coming in at two in the morning to a little, quiet base with just a few yawning sentries, shipping department personnel, and of course — somewhat like Alice, he figured — the chatty night shift admin.
The only difference is I’m waiting around to be grilled by a government agent. But that does kind of fit into my paradigm, unlike pretty much everything else that happened tonight.
Jack waited around, enjoying a few more powerful and needed sips of delicious coffee, then forced himself to set it down to ration it. He paced. Paced and waited some more.
The hell is taking so long? Isn’t this a priority issue? I guess I’m not so damn special, after all. Ha. Just another schmoe waiting on the government. Everything is a procedure! Take it slow, slow, so damn slow, slow and safe, so slow we move at microscopic speeds! Especially if there is ‘Change.’ That’s a no-no word. We come up on Change, we stop dead and contemplate how we can go around it.
Change did finally come for Jack, though — the change of an opened door. An exceptionally-typical, military-suited agent walked in, face like every other, hair like every other, manilla folder in his hand like every other. The military suit was not a serviceman uniform — it denoted a military intelligence agent. A top cop. It was black over white and very similar to the Old World stereotype, but the white shirt had a heavier, higher collar, the vest was bigger and less stylish, and they never had ties. The jacket was also never closed and had no buttons.
In a voice like every other, the agent asked, “Mr. Jack Laker, correct?” as he closed the door shut behind him.
Jack simply nodded, steeling himself. The agent had on a pair of thick, black, wrapping mirrored shades, something Jack understood was high-tech. HUD, augmented reality visuals, so on. Any sort of elite or key personnel had it, one way or another.
“Have a seat, please, Jack,” the agent commanded, as he pulled a chair out himself. “I’m Agent Cancun. You may address me as that, Agent C, or sir, as you prefer.”
“Yes, sir.” Jack and the agent sat down roughly at the same time.
Agent C opened his folder, moving the first page to his left, but it didn’t seem like he was studying it. “Mr. Laker, I am charged specifically with understanding your situation leading up to your questionable decision point. You are aware, and were aware, that the subject you came into contact with was an unknown, anomalous, inhuman being from outside Memorial-controlled territory?”
Jack swallowed the sip of coffee he had in his mouth. He took a deep breath after. “Yes. But-”
“And you understand that such beings are universally Kill-On-Contact and to not be interacted with in any other way?”
“I’m not military. Even when I was, I was a pilot.”
“Yet you were under the same provision of duties and orders as everyone else in this regard. All citizens serve and are considered reserve members of the military for defense, with required training and drill dictates, whether excused in technicality or not. So you were not aware of your own process of orders and conduct, is that correct, Mr. Laker?”
Jack fought off a grimace. “I was not at all aware that Neex was a foreign alien until long after the rescue. I did not have the intel. At first, I thought she was just a modified human. Does she look like a monster to you?”
The agent didn’t answer, just waited placidly and stared.
Jack sniffed. “Well, she didn’t to me. She just seemed like a human being who was scared ten ways to Sunday — terrified, really — and running for her life from the Bad Guys. Excuse me if my programming tells me to help instead of shooting her between the eyes.”
“And this ‘programming’ also dictated your behavior after you did, in fact, realize what she was?”
“If you want to see it that way. There was no way I could do what you’re suggesting after interacting with her to that point. She’s a gentle soul, basically… even after being rather abused by those who found her first. She never even seemed to hold a grudge. I think it's because she’s a scientist. She regards their behavior animalistically — or anthropologically. She remains impartial even after suffering and losing her friends.”
“Did you ever consider this could be the cold and calculating maneuvering of a relative sociopath? A manipulator? She had reason to bring you into her confidence, correct?”
Jack shook his head. “Not one sign of this. Not one. Even her modes of expression seem honest. It’s obvious when she’s sad or embarrassed. Sure, it could be some grand act, I guess. But she was ready to die, even. She wasn’t trying to manipulate me. She thanked me and tried to pass on a message of peace, though communication was difficult. Like… she forgave us for getting her and her friends killed, dude. Er, sorry — Agent C.”
After clearing his throat, Jack continued, “I only saved her due to piecing together that I might have the ‘heart’ she needed. She wasn’t even asking me to get it. She thought it was lost completely. I know she thought those were her last moments. There’s no fraggin way to fake that. And she remained the pinnacle of grace.”
The agent said nothing immediately, just looked down, slowly turning the pages. Jack expected questions to advance to the ‘choice’ part, but perhaps he’d already damned himself with his long ‘Mem-mail’ message sent on the subject. In fact, Jack thought the agent might even be reading it right then.
Agent C looked up, finally, and asked, “Why did you not report to Memorial territory or to her agents at any point in this situation? Do you not trust your own, even as you trust this nicknamed anomalous foreign agent?”
Jack was sure he had a sour expression as he fought off a scowl. “Memorial agents cultivate an aura of mystery and fear, sir. You must know that much. Logically, you have to take the pluses and the minuses. One of the latter being your own people being afraid of reporting things.”
“Please answer my questions, Mr. Laker.”
“I primarily didn’t report initially due to not knowing her desire, as a presumed human being with rights, with where to go and what to do. She was unconscious. I kept her out of the territory not knowing her status with you sorts.”
“Are you saying that you deliberately obstructed Memoria from knowing about something clearly anomalous, whatever you thought she might be?”
“Look, I could’ve violated the protocols of her citizen status on some other platform. Agent C. Would someone from some independent Boonieville approve of being carted right to the Mems they despise? That’s just my taxi-man instincts, not my bleeding heart. Hell, I could get in trouble for that based on some bullshit treaty violation I triggered! And then I’d be sitting here for a whole other reason, right?”
“Isn’t it true, though, Mr. Laker, that this Neex was willing and even wanted to contact Memoria, and you were well aware of this before making your questionable decision? It wasn’t even you or her that ended up making contact, but your uncle. If agents had arrived sooner, casualties may have been avoided.”
Just when Jack was feeling pretty confident in his answers, the armor-piercing bullets dropped. People died. Guilt hit him in the gut and he looked down at the table, not responding at first. “We were going to. I did make a… judgment call. If I’m honest, I don’t know the timing or if things would’ve been different. I guess you do. Frag me, I made the calls I made. I never would’ve thought they were tracking us or would come like that. I thought I did everything right in that respect. Sir.”
“Why did you delay, Mr. Laker?”
“I guess we wrap around back to the point, eh? Trust. I was afraid of exactly the protocol you sat there and chirped right in my face about. That you’d kill her first and ask questions later. And that leads right into my ‘questionable decision,’ doesn’t it? I wanted it as proof and clout before we did the introduction.”
“And is that the only reason, Mr. Laker?”
Jack didn’t bother answering. He felt like Agent Cancun knew everything from the start and was just getting it on record from the horse’s mouth. The Mems were thorough. They liked the ‘full dimensionality of the truth.’ He remembered that term, from a lecture at military school. Once upon a time, he considered his chances of being one of them. But he’d simply gone a different way, for the Wonder and Wander of the free and open airways. Flying had turned into his drug, he supposed.
Agent Cancun pulled a little stapled bundle out of the folder, placed a pen on top of it, and slid it over to Jack. “Your statement of events, from the top.” He collected up his manilla folder, stood, and pushed his chair in. “I’ll return shortly. I need to go take a shit.”
Jack stared incredulously as the agent exited. Seriously?
Shaking his head, Jack sighed, took another swig of coffee, and took up the pen to begin writing.
A few minutes after he started, Alice brightened the room by entering. Smiling apologetically, she placed a huge packet of papers in front of him. “I am so, so sorry, Mr. Laker! I need like ten billion signatures. I’ve highlighted them, though. Routine acknowledgments. Procedure, procedure, procedure.”
“Oh, great,” Jack said as he sat back and briefly returned the smile. Such a nice perfume. “Guess you want me to get this over with now?”
She winced, nodded, and smiled all at the same time somehow, holding one hand in the other. Jack couldn’t help finding it adorable.
He glanced at the document’s first page. Generic ‘I swear I am who I say I am and am being truthful’ sort of stuff. He signed. The second page… a whole lot of nothing new. Signed. Third page, he stifled a sigh of annoyance even trying to scan it. Signed.
“This shit is… like a textual brick,” Jack muttered.
“Yeaaah…” Alice agreed breathlessly with another apologetic expression.
He went page by page with brief review, struggling not to give up and chain-sign against the power of the mountainous climb to understand even one percent of the tome in front of him. Especially with Alice waiting there so patiently and sympathetically. Some last shreds of paranoia and stubbornness kept him from doing it, though — kept him scanning over it somewhat, even as it made him feel like an asshole.
Almost carbon copies of his military service agreement showed up, as between ‘Archon Memoria’ and a ‘licensed agent.’
“Alright, so- okay,” Jack mumbled. “This is in here, too, then. Okay. Fine, I guess.”
“I’m sorry?” Alice asked.
“I just wasn’t expecting a service contract in here. I guess that’s a good sign? Do you… do you… know? About…” He trailed off.
“That you’re slated as an Agent Nonpareil, beginning as a Junior Agent Exemplar? Of course, Mr. Laker. I should think it a good sign, certainly, especially considering any trouble you’re in would have to acknowledge your new status first.”
“Ah. Right! I can see how that would be beneficial. Guess I better get this signed before I’m tossed over the platform, then!” He laughed, knowing he was a bit hysterical and a whole lot strained but unable to stop himself.
Alice smiled politely and mildly, not quite showing teeth.
Jack shifted uncomfortably as he looked back down at the… contract. It is what it is. Come on, I can get through this… how many was that? Twenty? There’s like a hundred here! And I need to write this stupid statement, too. Frag me, man…
Not quite halfway through, his eyes caught on something on the document page, even as he was poised to sign. He re-read the block of text.
3. The licensed agent agrees to submit consideration to all individually assigned situational rulings as dictated by Archon and written for agreement, or suffer punishment as infractions befitting the severity of non-participation. Archon will acquire approval from no less than three licensed Homo Sapien magistrates and the PM for amended situational rules (such as removal or subtraction of a rule). Initial situational rules require PM approval and consist of the following:
a. — Development and training upscaling due to age abnormality. The licensed agent will be expected to be mission-ready within months rather than the customary 4-7 year period. Reasonable additional hardship is expected.
b. — Probational communication restrictions enforced for a period no longer than (1) year or attainment of full Agent Nonpareil license and mission-ready status, whichever comes first. Restrictions are subject to Archon fiat and intended to mitigate breach risks from a more culturally entrenched individual than is typical.
c. — Mandatory class/powerset selection coaching and forfeiture of class/powerset selection in lieu of potential non-optimal preferences.
d. — Additional fitness training. The licensed agent requires significant fitness improvement, and will need to surrender the majority of off-time to customized regimens until meeting the proper standards.
e. — The licensed agent will act as an advocate for Archon with all alien elements (such as those they are already in contact with), where necessary, and refrain from security breaches, improper alien prioritization over Archon interests, or harmful criticism. These refrains are strictly in an ‘out of house’ sense (as though public). Concerns in-house, under standard confidentiality protocols, may be taken up or expressed normally.
Frowning, Jack tapped the pen on the paper and felt his stubborn tendencies rising up into critical. He held up the paper to Alice and pointed. “There, part C. What is that about?”
Alice leaned down, read it, and shrugged. “I’ve seen it before. Potential agents are, regrettably, sometimes a risk for improper value priorities when there are particularly needed roles. Understand, Mr. Laker, this is all for the greater good of humanity.”
“Uh-huh. And how old are most potential agents when they sign one of these?”
She blinked. “Well. Just after puberty. But-”
“And how old am I? Around the same?”
“You know your own age, Mr. Laker.”
“Twenty-five. Twenty-five, a grown-ass man, and I can’t make my own choices? I think whoever drafted this might be a little confused.”
Alice frowned at him, which suddenly felt like he was being exactly the sort of middle school problem child he’d just denied being. But he refused to bow to that externally-levered feeling — trusting a deeper dissatisfaction in his gut — and stared right back. Watching her so closely, he noticed her eyes slip just slightly, as if they wanted to glance upward to the side. The corner. The camera.
It was the tiniest flinch, though, and she finally put on a polite smile and replied, “Your situation has been carefully considered, Mr. Laker. You should see that in the outline of the training changes. It is not a factor of simply age or maturity, but a complete profile, including temporary issues of altered perception. This is the result of an assessment and certainly not meant to insult you, nor is there anything to be ashamed of.”
Jack leaned back to give her a level look, then deliberately turned to look at the camera, before turning back to pour over the contract. He read back a page, forward a page, but he was finding it difficult not to simply dwell on the ‘custom rules’ part, and how much the whole thing smelled like a trick. A hoodwink.
Not hard to pull on younger people, or most families with their eyes turned into the big zeros that were going to get added to the end of their income. It was something of an open secret that the families of Nons were taken very good care of. There were some rare known families of public figures, and those rumored or expected to be of an unknown one. Ostensibly, it was supposed to be kept secret but it wasn’t ruthlessly upheld. Probably yet another calculated measure.
He turned back to eye the rules again and thought about the ‘B’ part dealing with communication. How would it relate to him and Neex? ‘E’ did show some expectation of communication, but obviously under Memoria’s fiat rules. Just as he — right then, apparently out of contract and limited — couldn’t talk to her and was blocked.
Well. This is a contract. They need me to sign it. And what if…?
Jack tossed the pen down on the contract, folded his hands on the table, and smiled politely up at Alice. “I’m not signing this, as it stands. I’m going to need some changes. So. Now what?”
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